After an emotionally struggling phase of her younghood and being under the shadow of her mother Urmila Manjushree a celebrated thumri singer, Qala Manjushree is now an established singer. But with the rise of fame comes unprecedented pressure from the media and Qala tries to cope which begins to deteriorate her health.
REVIEW
Qala is a period film set in Calcutta in the pre-independence era of the 1930s or maybe 1940s. And when it comes to period films of the golden age, the bygone era, there are two departments that become more responsible for enhancing all the technicalities and the aesthetics of filmmaking. That is the designing of costumes and the production.
It is hard for me to describe in the most perfect sense but both aspects of Qala are electrifying and give rich vibes of the earliest decades of Indian filmmaking artistry. A meticulous effort to present the old age that disconnects you from the present era. Gives you the same vibe as if you are in the music video of Khamaj and Shyam Benegal‘s Bhumika, or Guru Dutt‘s Kaaghaz Ke Phool.
FEMINISM
The angle of feminism clicked in the screenwriting. I liked this arc of Qala questioning the precise questions and receiving no genuine response. In a universally male-dominated industry, only a woman can describe how difficult it is to make a place in any department in the film industry and what she has to suffer mentally and physically.
Speaking of physical suffering, there is a scene that perhaps never happened before and may have triggered us to question ourselves. After Qala fails to sing the right notes, the music director takes her out and forces her to give oral sex. Minutes later, Qala returns and sings correctly.
It may look like an awful sequence but highlights countless behind-the-door horrors inflicted on women. At the same time, the question that triggered me was how did she sing so well minutes after swallowing semen? Does the vocal chord of the singer not affect or harm after that? I actually had to research on the internet and found out that it doesn’t unless there is a transmissible disease.
LANGUAGE AND PERFORMANCES
The Urdu language was the treasure of classic Bollywood. But here, there is a visible error in language proficiency when actors speak dialogues. I will limit my criticism by implying that the film is set in Calcutta but not Bombay. So perhaps this is how Bengalis spoke Urdu in those times.
The performances are not up to the bar where the period film can be judged with more splendidness. Perhaps it was challenging to perform in a different setting than the norm for the actors. You need actors who can fit in the language and justify the aesthetics otherwise they will end up like Suniel Shetty in Umrao Jaan. Happy to see the debut of Irrfan Khan‘s son Babil Khan. Amit Sial and Swastika Mukherjee were average.
Tripti Dimri as Qala, I don’t know why she reminded me of Sonam Kapoor in her earlier films. There was so much grace and beauty in Qala but her mental performance was bleak. She visibly struggled to collapse her settled persona.
MUSIC
Qala’s music is the signature and authentic reminder of the good old times of the melody. Amit Trivedi knows what to offer in a different setting and he is familiar with this. His music was fabulous for Bombay Velvet and not to forget Lootera‘s number ‘Sawaar Loon‘. This time it is more distinctive and time traveling to listen to the notes, the lyrics, and vocabulary. The music sets the mood and drops you to feel more about those times.
I want to specially mention this singer, Sireesha Bhagavatula; I don’t remember if I listened to her before. But here, her songs particularly the best track of the film ‘Ghodey Pe Sawaar‘ reminded me so much of Geeta Dutt‘s voice and her melodious songs of the 1950s. Qala’s music definitely is one of the best music albums of the year.
DIRECTOR
Anvita Dutt has usually been a lyricist all these years. But her ass on the director’s chair has opened the gates for period films in better crafting and finesse. She is really fond of the classical era. Her directional debut was Bulbbul which was beautifully set in the Bengal presidency of the 1880s.
CLOSING REMARKS
Qala compels the audience to fascinate with striking visuals and lush cinematography.
Qala is the tale of the struggle for acceptance but jeopardizing it with jealousy. A girl who lost her male twin at birth, failed to convince her mother about successfully passing the legacy in the house of music, and later on being rejected by her. The events occurring in the second age of the film industry.
Qala is a reminder of unwanted rivalry when a professional begins to believe there is a competitor who will replace you and the general audience will accept your competitor and forget you that will distraught you. I wonder what reminds me of this? Yes. Black Swan.
RATING: 7.7/10
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In early 2000, Shahryar Khan was appointed the chairman of the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB) and it was to my usual bitter disappointment that once again, the committee decided to elect an individual who had no experience in the field of cricket. In those times, I came to know that he was a diplomat. He couldn’t tolerate the situation of Pakistan cricket after that infamous Oval test and Younis Khan’s refusal of captaincy. A decade later, Shahryar Khan was appointed the chairman again.
Back in 2017, when Shahryar Khan left the position as the chairman of the Pakistan Cricket Board, I was googling him and found out that he was born in Bhopal. I further discovered that besides sports and a political career, he is an author. And one of the titles of his book that stroke the cord was the name, The Begums of Bhopal.
Being an ardent book reader and history aficionado, I gradually paced up digging about why a Bhopal-born octogenarian in Pakistan wrote about the wives of Bhopal. My eyes widen when I found out that Shahryar Khan belongs to some royal family who ruled Bhopal state for 241 years. But the most riveting part was that out of 241 years, his four female ancestors ruled for 107 consecutive years.
After understanding such a ravishing part of history, my honest feeling was that after learning so much about history, I was an ignorant fool not to have an inch of enlightenment about this. And it is a sad part, most of us have lost the hunger or enthusiasm to learn about one of the oldest civilizations. There is so much treasure of knowledge and the history of Bhopal is just a branch of it.
Curiosity bore so many questions about the book. The two most critical questions were that how come the Pathans ruled a state for more than two centuries where the Hindus dwelt in the majority? How come not one but four ‘Muslim’ ladies ruled a state in nineteenth-century India for more than one hundred years?
A brief introduction, nine chapters, an epilogue, and some drawings, appendixes, and some assessments of this book enrich you with the most precious detailing about the state’s history. Thanks to British India Office Records that preserves many scores of letters, documents, drawings, photographs, and history books that maintain the accurate information about the history of yore. Plus, dozens of books also assisted in shaping a proper history guide.
THE DYNASTY
AN AFGHAN IN BHOPAL
The foundation of the princely state was laid by the traveler from Tirah, Dost Mohammad Khan of Mirazi-Khel clan of the Orakzai tribe when he joined Aurangzeb’s army and soon took control of Malwa, the region where the Gonds and the Bhils were the original and indigenous inhabitants.
Dost began to provide protection and made his presence stable in the region. In a few years, he persuaded his clan in Tirah to move and join him. As a result, fifty of his clan people along with his father, five brothers, and his wife Mehraj Bibi traveled from Tirah to Berasia. Thus, the Mirazi-Khel tribe became the pioneer settlers of Bhopal and were called the Barru-kat Pathans of Bhopal. With the steady progress of the Bhopal village that turned into a city, Dost became the first Nawab of Bhopal.
RIVALRY WITH THE MARHATTAS
The direct descendants of Dost continued to dominate and led the state with their leadership and faced many rivalries with the neighboring states. In the eighteenth century, the Marhatta Empire made attempts to take the control of Bhopal. First Peshwa Bajirao, then his son Nana Saheb Balaji Rao, then Raghuji Bhonsle.
In the 19th century, Bhopalis faced the toughest times when Scindia of Gwalior and Bhonsle of Nagpur along with their army strength of 82,000 sieged Bhopal. Dost’s great-grandson Wazir Mohammad Khan successfully led the defense of an army strength of only 11,000 that included the Rajput allies, Sikh mercenaries, and the Pindaras of Tonk. I took a special interest in the detailing of this siege because this was the most important battle in their history where the lives of Bhopalis and the fate of Dost’s family and legacy were at stake. I have written a separate 2-part blog about the Siege of Bhopal that you can read here:
The second Begum of Bhopal, Sikandar Begum, and her royal court with a few musicians.
A decade after the Siege of Bhopal began the rule of female rulers of the Bhopal dynasty starting from Wazir’s daughter-in-law and 5th Nawab Ghous Mohammad Khan’s daughter, Qudsia Begum. The arrival of women’s rule to the state turned the fates of Bhopalis as the state began to progress and Dost’s legacy continued to influence.
Amongst her vital contributions as the state leader was buying lodges in Makkah and Madinah for Bhopali pilgrims, and employing David Cook to construct a pipeline to provide her people free drinking water. She provided funds from her personal account to construct a railway station.
When Qudsia’s daughter Sikandar Begum took control and became the second begum to rule, she left no shades of their golden legacy behind but gave more reasons to believe why the begums of Bhopal were to be trusted as their supreme leader.
Moti Masjid was built in 1860 by Sikandar Begum, daughter of Qudsia Begum
In Sikandar’s era, postal service started, a police force was formed, and constructed a treasury and a mint for the local production of coins and currency. Sikandar also constructed a hospital and a few dispensaries and invited Hakeems from all the states to settle down in Bhopal. To transform the royal household into religious intellectuals, Sikandar invited Yemeni scholars to teach them Arabic, Hadiths, and the holy book of the Quran. When it comes to her religious contributions, Sikandar introduced Majlis-e-Shoora that passed 134 laws during her reign.
Sikandar holds the distinction for working for harmony between Muslims and Hindus by constructing mosques and serais for them. She also appointed an Accountant General who would check the waste and corruption. Urdu became Bhopal’s official court language, previously it was Persian.
THE BEGUMS: SHAHJEHAN & SULTAN JAHAN
Mother and daughter, the third and fourth Begums of Bhopal, Shahjehan (right) and Sultan Jahan (left).
The third begum Shahjehan, Sikandar’s daughter, brought more reforms into the system. The postal and police services that were initiated in her mother’s reign, were modernized. The revenue system was improved. Shahjehan also constructed a jail, a dam, and a proper arsenal for the state’s artillery.
Shahjehan’s daughter and the last Begum of Bhopal, Sultan Jahan faced a lot of challenges when she sat on the throne. Only 40,000 rupees were left in the treasury to run the state. Bhopal’s political system was on a razor edge and the economy was compromising thanks to her step-father Siddiq Hassan whose incompetent leadership resulted in social and economic corruption and despite sharp criticism by the British, Shahjehan preferred to defend him.
Sultan Jahan’s era was the symbol of promise and in the first ten years of rule, she built hope, faith, and future for her people. Despite being very religious and conservative, Sultan Jahan brought educational reforms, liberalism, and modernization to Bhopal.
Sultan Jahan improved systems in taxation, irrigation, agriculture, armed forces, police, jails, judiciary, and public works. She initiated municipality elections that upgraded sanitation, hygiene, and supplying tax-free water. In her era, Bhopali women found their voice in Begum. They were encouraged to join the Bhopal Ladies Club. The technical institutes were opened to teach them embroidery, handicraft, and needlework. She became the first chancellor of Aligarh Muslim University that helped in raising the bar for education, especially for girls.
The author’s great-grandmother and the last Begum of Bhopal, Sultan Jahan Begum.
Four ladies from Dost Mohammad Khan’s bloodline ruled the state for over a century and laid a solid foundation of discipline, faith, courage, commitment, integrity, and self-belief. We do not find any such example of political dominance and ideal leadership where women ruled keeping the peace between people of different faiths, stayed loyal with the British, and brought numerous social, political, and economic reforms in political history.
Balthazar de Bourbon
My book review will be incomplete without mentioning the Bourbons of India, the French connection to the Bhopal Dynasty; the descendants of high-born nobleman Jean-Phillipe de Bourbon de Navarre. They were the superior loyalists to the dynasty for generations that fought and defended a few battles and supported them at every cost.
MY FAVORITE LEADERS
Amongst all the leaders of the dynasty written in the book, my favorite leaders were Mamola Bai, Qudsia Begum, Wazir Mohammad Khan, and Sultan Jahan Begum. I found them more distinguished and their leadership more propelling because they all encountered challenges and tackled them successfully.
Before the 19th century witnessed Bhopal being ruled by four ladies, Mamola Bai was the first significant woman in Bhopal’s political history. She was a Hindu but first, she was the wife of the first Nawab Yar Mohammad Khan, and Dost’s daughter-in-law, who ruled the state for 50 years. She faced a tough time from the opposition who was Yar’s own brother Sultan who wanted to sit on the throne. But she invoked Islamic legitimacy in favor of Yar’s son Faiz against the claims.
The British Empire’s connection to Bhopal state began with Mamola Bai when she warmly welcomed General Goddard in 1778. Abdul Qadir Jilani’s direct descendant Pir Ghous Ahmad Shah Jilani formally declared her Rabia Basri II, the author’s mother Abida Sultan held the custody of the formal attestation of this declaration.
This is the first Begum of Bhopal Qudsia Begum’s only portrait found in the book as well as on the internet.
The point where Qudsia Begum impressed me the most was when she unveils her burqa in front of all the family members, contenders to the throne, qazi and mufti, and reads her husband’s will. These were the times when Dost’s male descendants were fighting for the throne and then, this 19-year-old Qudsia, pregnant with her second child, announces her regency and begins the century-old era of women’s dominance over the state.
The dazzling aspects of Sultan Jahan Begum lie in her leadership that turned the fates of the Bhopalis, especially women. Plus, she cleaned the mess made by her step-father Siddiq Hassan who made a lot of damage in corrupting the economic and political situation of the state.
But my favorite amongst all the leaders of this Bhopal dynasty is Wazir Mohammad Khan, the true defender of the state. He is the one who protected the state falling in the hands of the Marhattas, twice. Once, Wazir along with Ambapani’s Jagirdar Kuli Khan with 1000 tribesmen defeated Sironj governor’s General Bala Rao Anglia of Gwalior, Raghuji Bhonsle of Nagpur, Pindara Amir Khan of Tonk with 40,000 force. And the second time, he courageously defended Bhopal’s siege against Marhatta’s heavy army force of 82,000. The four Begums would have never led the state if Wazir’s gallantry never existed.
Tomb of Wazir Mohammad Khan in Bhopal. The site is hardly 3kms far from the tomb of his great-grandfather, Dost Mohammad Khan.
AUTHENTICITY
The Begums of Bhopal guarantees history check and authentic detailing because of the four vital factors. One is that Shahryar Khan had his mother Abida Sultan’s library in hand that preserves books, documents, and rare manuscripts. Two, he had access to the British library where he scoured through confidential reports about the state by the-then British civil servants.
Three and the biggest factor that distinguishes this book from any history book a historian may have written in the past two centuries is that Shahryar gained direct knowledge about his ancestors through his mother’s tape recordings that recorded her impressions of the state’s history as related to her by her grandmother Sultan Jahan Begum, the fourth and final Begum of Bhopal. On the tape, the grandmother, old civil servants, and family members spoke in detail about their time and even recalled the time of Sikandar Begum’s golden era when she ruled Bhopal in the mid-nineteenth century.
And four, the book discourages to be quintessential or overpraise the pride of his ancestors. The book refuses to deceive the readers by exaggerating the details of their greatness of being the most ideal of all Bhopalis. The book highlights the state’s leadership that went in good and bad hands. The book stamps an unbiased history of centuries-old rulership where the author details the rights and wrongs of Bhopal’s leadership in safe and unsafe hands.
The golden example of the book’s historical authenticity is writing about one of his ancestors who sold his rank and Bhopal’s fate for his comfort and pleasure, Ghous Mohammad Khan, father of the first Begum of Bhopal, Qudsia Begum. Then there was Siddiq Hassan, the third Begum Shahjehan’s second husband, whose leadership in Bhopal raised questions in Bhopal and the British.
Portraits of prince and princess, grandchildren of Sultan Jahan Begum of Bhopal, c.1910
The author also holds no tolerance in courageously detailing the clashes in the royal family, complicated mother-daughter relation between Shahjehan Begum and Sultan Jahan Begum. The author was also not shy of speaking about the speculation of a romantic affair between Qudsia Begum and Shahzad Masih. Qudsia Begum disallowing to transfer her power of authority to her son-in-law is also spread in pages. The point of highlighting all of this is that the author pens the history of his ancestors in an impression that the Bhopal state and its people went through changes in the period of the leadership of their dynasty that resulted in good and bad outcomes. People lost their lives in their battles but also trusted for the reforms they made.
The author neither shows any pride nor does he write any respective names as his relatives but he broadly commentated their stories. You will not observe any page where he calls his relatives in person but rather speaks their names. He mentions himself in the epilogue but only writes his name. The preface is the only part where the author personally speaks and writes ‘I’.
CLOSING REMARKS
I began to read The Begums of Bhopal back in March 2018. The knowledge was so driving that I began to prepare notes and draw myself the lineage of the princely state. Although, the drawing is there in the book, but for me, it was helpful to update all the lines with the completion of chapters I read. This book made a lot of reading intervals due to my own mid-life crises. But with a strong will, I have finished reading this book by the end of 2021.
The beauty of reading this book is that you grow with the timeline from Dost Mohammad Khan’s arrival in Malwa in 1707 to Hamidullah Khan’s succession of the throne in 1926. It is like if you are watching the American television show Roots and following Kunta Kinte’s descendants. This book deserves a television series with an extremely huge production budget, and I wish if this ever happens. Because this part of history needs to be told.
To all the readers who seek knowledge about the tareekh-e-Hindustan, The Begums of Bhopal is a part of it. A lot of information about India’s ancient history has not reached the internet; that makes me think that there is still a lot about the past to reach us. Gain it, treasure it, before all these cannons go further missing.
The Begums (1819-1926): Qudsia (top left), Sikandar (top right), Shahjehan (bottom left), and Sultan Jahan (bottom right)
“I have seen many storms in my life. Most storms have caught me by surprise, so I had to learn very quickly to look further and understand that I am not capable of controlling the weather, to exercise the art of patience and to respect the fury of nature.”
Paulo Coelho
1
FRIDAY
7.00 AM
♪ Amarillo by mornin’ Up from San Antone Everything that I got Is just what I’ve got on
When that sun is high in that Texas sky I’ll be buckin’ at the county fair Amarillo by mornin’ Amarillo, I’ll be th- ♪
I have changed around three dozen tracks in the past five minutes. But nothing is diverting my mind. I’m driving at 50kph on a road whose name I never bothered to know. My eyes are wide open to locate my home which I am not recalling for some time because my mind is lost somewhere thinking about the reasons I lost my job almost three months ago.
Why do I cogitate so much when I shouldn’t? Why do people drive reckless? Perhaps they don’t cogitate like me. Or maybe they haven’t lost any job. Or possibly they are not working but enjoying their life on their father’s money. Or maybe I am thinking too much. Or maybe the dystopian ark is too heavy to collide with the sacred tsunami. Maybe I am not driving on the road at all and the other vehicles are honking for fun. Possibly this journey is leading me somewhere but I am not perceiving. Perhaps the reckless driver has an emergency. Perhaps the race of life is settling on the road. No, I am thinking too much.
I should not have lost my job. But what was I supposed to do? That boss was irking me. He was putting me to work for abnormal working hours. He was insanely scolding me almost every day. Despite completing the assignments, he was lambasting me in front of my team. It was humiliating. Perhaps he wanted me to lose my patience and do something terrible. But why was he being so stern?
*YELLOW SIGNAL LIGHT*
50kph… 45kph…
A car on my right, racing at more than my speed. I think he wants to break the signal.
*RED SIGNAL LIGHT*
40kph… 35kph…
A street dog crossing at zebra in front of the assembly of the stopping vehicle but that…
*DHHATTTTTT*
*BRAKE*
30kph… 35kph…
*DHHATTTTTT*
……………………………………
*EYEBALLS ROLLING*
*ZOOMING OUT*
*HEAVY BREATHING*
Oh my Lord! I hit mine on the back of the car ahead in the queue. My foot presses the accelerator instead of the brake in the panic.
My heart is beating fast. My hand is pressing the gear tightly. I am sweating. The driver of the other car reaches my window to shout and argue. The other vehicles are honking. The pedestrians are staring. The driver of that car is still shouting and indicating to come out. Come out of the car.
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
The driver’s family comes out from the car now. A woman of his age, visibly pregnant, questions in front of my car about my possible blindness and driving. A frightened girl appears with a crying baby in her arm.
*GREEN SIGNAL LIGHT*
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
Another car from my back shows up to my right, abuses me and leaves.
*SHIVERING*
The driver is angry and cannot tolerate further to the discontinued situation. He spits on my window. The baby is crying out loud. His woman is still shouting.
*HEAVY BREATHING*
*YELLOW SIGNAL*
*RED SIGNAL*
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
On my right, the dog is dead. Its bleeding face is towards me. I am weeping. I cannot bear this. I feel I will urinate at any moment.
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
The pedestrians have stopped to watch this freak show. The entire family is yelling and shouting.
*SWEATING*
*GREEN SIGNAL*
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
All eyes are on me. The disfigured bloody dog is also gaping at me.
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
The crying baby is not giving up migraining despite migrating from sister to mother.
*YELLOW*
*RED*
*ZOOMING IN*
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
*CARS HONKING*
*BLACKOUT*
2
11.00 AM
*LOOKING AT THE MIRROR*
*ZOOMING OUT*
♪ All day staring at the ceiling Making friends with shadows on my wall All night hearing voices telling me That I should get some sleep Because tomorrow might be good for something ♪
My name is Qaisar Amjad. I am a 28-year-old bachelor, born and raised as a foreigner, living in a rental apartment. My parents are Amjad Chishti and Bilqis Amjad from Pakpattan, a city of central Punjab. This is the land where the shrine of Baba Farid is situated. But a long time ago, when they were living here, they sold their property in Pakpattan and moved around 200 kilometers away to Lahore to reunite with my father’s siblings. But they continued to visit the shrine and pay their respect. My father apprised me that our ancestors have been revering to the shrine for the past two centuries and I was born by his blessing.
I haven’t visited my country that often. I was a kid when I went with my parents. Even there, I was a foreigner to my extended families. Those were strange and different species to me and I was alien to them in all sorts. So I was alone and isolated in my childhood. Here, I grew up meeting people from different backgrounds, learned different languages and gathered on many different occasions. I usually preferred to stay out from home because apart from my studies, I had nothing to do.
My parents were very remote to diversity. Almost every social contact with their lives were the mortals belonging to our own country. When they tuned in to the television, the only programs they watched were the news and entertainment channels of our country. On the road, they used to stop only those taxis whose drivers were their native. In the stores and malls, they stood only in that queue where the cashier was their native. Punjabi was the only language they spoke at home and on the telephone. They spoke Urdu when the national guests of the other provinces showed up. With time, they learned to speak broken English which they improved, again, with time. It was extremely hard for me to adjust with my parents because of our preferences and priorities. Luckily, my parents and I realized that we were people from different backgrounds under the same roof. My parents tried to accustom me and I did try to acculturate them with the norms of a multinational country but we, unquestionably, failed each other.
I have a 17-year-old brother, Nizam. He is studying at home and is not enrolled in any institution due to the costly semester fees. I was paying for his tuition but since I lost my job, paying any kind of money has become a huge burden. We have mutual respect due to a gap of generation but that gap vanishes when we watch the NBA together. I am Clippers, he is Lakers.
3 months ago, my landlord notified me to pay him the agreed quarterly rent. At that time, I was losing my job and the money was already spent on the required domestic expenses. My expenses were already talking as my pay was low and the boss was refusing to raise my pay. Therefore I was out of solutions. So for the first time in my life, I sought financial help. To my good luck, a few friends gathered the amount and I was able to pay to the landlord.
When I lost my job, the prices of food and petrol and the bill for electricity hiked, and it became exceptionally hefty to save money like before. The suffocation period has now arrived and a couple of days ago, the landlord had rung me twice to pay him this week.
*GULPING*
My friends already have done the favor in the previous quarter and I b.bothered them this morning. So I am in no position to ask again within a few hours. I am yet to return their money used in the last rent payment. No no no, I don’t have the courage to ask for the help again.
*PUFFING*
What will they think about me? That Qaisar is raising his asking habit and not seeking a job to fix the critical issues? I do was hunting jobs but no vacancy, no message, no e-mail, nothing. Nothing. And now this morning, I hit a car and emptied my wallet with the remaining notes which were for my brother. Now I am not able to pay for Nizam’s tuition again. But I have to buy more time from Nizam’s tutor and request to pay him next month.
*LUMP IN THROAT*
I have never encountered so much restlessness in my life and this is getting really hard to tolerate.
*PUFFING*
*LIGHTS OFF*
♪ Hold on
Feeling like I’m headed for a breakdown
And I don’t know why ♪
In my room. On my knees. Bowing and pressing my palms on my head. Using my nails on my skull. Then making a fist and hitting on my knees. Then smacking my face until it gets red from one side.
♪ But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me ♪
3
11.30 AM
*DOOR CLOSING*
Nizam leaves for tuition. He doesn’t know that his tuition fees are not paid for the past two months. I could have paid if I had not panicked this morning. I must call the tutor before he reprimands his arriving without the fees and considers to scold him.
*CALLING TUTOR*
Author: “Yes?”
Qaiser: “H.h.hi hi sir. Howa you?”
“I’m good. Yes?”
“I want to… *thinking* I want to speak something very important.”
“Is Nizam unwell?”
“No no no. He is on his way to your place. I I want to speak to… about about your fees.”
“You have it now?”
“No no. I mean, p.p.please. Thank you for giving some time. But *sweating* b.but-”
“But what Mr. Qaisar? I am occupied with students here. Will you please be quick?”
*PUFFING*
“Yes yes. Can you please give me *raising index finger in the air* one… one more month, sir? I I promise I-”
“What is this Mr. Qaisar? This is the third time! *glasses off* I really cannot afford this. I cannot say much as I am in the middle of teaching the students. You must consider paying me this month. Okay, Mr. Qaisar?”
*WET EYES*
“Okay, sir. I will… I will conta-”
♪ I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be, me ♪
I keep my phone in the room and come to the drawing room. *tears dropping* The tutor was not attending my calls before because I was embarrassing him giving the same excuse. But this time, he looked forced to utter some words in a higher tone.
*LANDLORD CALLING*
And I am ignoring his call. I don’t know what to say. He knows that my friends helped me the last time so if I request to him for a delay in payment so he may suggest me to ask my friends. And I don’t wa-
*DOORBELL RINGING*
*HEARTBEAT RACING*
*DOORBELL RINGING*
I am sitting down the floor with my hands on the back of my head. My legs are curved as I feel I will piddle any second.
*SWEATING*
*GULPING*
*FOLDING HANDS*
The landlord calls again and I completely forgot to mute my phone.
*RIGHT EAR MOVING IN TAUT*
My phone is in my room. I am standing a meter away from the main door. So I am not aware if he can listen to my phone ringing from a distance.
The phone stops ringing. Pin drop silence for the next couple of minutes. All that I hark is my series of puffing.
4
12.00 PM
*ZOOMING OUT*
I have lost my weight due to severe desolation and depression in these few weeks. I have been regularly losing my appetite due to tensions and not eating in entirety to save the food for long. No job offer calls or emails. No vacancies. Nothing. And here I am sitting on the toilet shirtless and wearing cargo shorts; sweating and looking at my fate in the carving knife which *voice breaking* I am holding t.tightly for the past five minutes.
*TEETH CRUSHING*
This moment was certain to occur because my life w.was not moving nor revolving towards any hope. My old parents in their hometown have been assuming for several months that I am still working *voice breaking* and things are normal here. I know what they have suffered while growing us *teary eyes* and I am in no position to lie to them after *lump in throat* I put them in numerous jeopardies since my rough teenhood.
*WEEPING*
I realized my responsibility only when I got the job the first time five years ago and involved myself in contributing to pay the house rent and Nizam’s fee from my first pay.
*GROANING*
*TIGHTLY HOLDING KNIFE*
Now, I cannot fight from the bonafide miseries and look into Nizam’s eyes *voice breaking* and tell him that he will be able to sit in the examination room.
♪ But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell I know right now you can’t tell But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see A different side of me ♪
*THINKING*
*SWEATING*
Ok ok. *eyes rolling* I will stab myself in the belly. I must make my mind. That is it. Go for it. Go for it. *gulping* Goo for itt.
*BOTH HANDS TIGHTLY HOLDING KNIFE*
*BLOWING AIR THRICE*
*EYES WIDE OPEN*
Gooo for itttt! Gooo for itttt!
*HANDS SHAKING*
Do it! Doooo ittttttt!
*GUHHHHHH*
Oh God! I can’t! I can’t! You mmust do it, Qaisar!
I must do something quickly. Cut the vein? Shove the knife on either skull or heart? But I should do in a rage so that I endeavor a powerful force without hesitating. *lump in throat* Then I am gone in a few seconds. The ravage culminates. I can do it. I can do it. I can do it. I can do it. It is just a matter of a few seconds. *weeping* Then I’m gone. No more pain, no more stress, no more agitation.
♪ I know it doesn’t seem that way But maybe it’s the perfect day Even though the bills are piling And maybe Lady Luck ain’t smiling ♪
Heart then. That is it.
*HEAVY BREATHING*
It is the heart. A hand is enough.
*CLOSING OTHER FIST TIGHTLY*
*CLOSING EYES*
I’m sorry ammi.
*CRYING*
*HEARTBEAT RACING*
I’m sorry abbu.
*SWEATING*
I’m sorry Nizam.
*CRYING*
Oh Godddd.
*SHOUTING*
Oh Godddd.
*MOANING*
Sorry sorrrryyyy.
*HAND SHAKING*
My pregnant Siberian cat, Push, hears my whining, reaches the toilet, stops, and stares at me holding the knife in the air with my eyes wide open. She certainly looks terrified with my strange behavior as if the knife is meant to kill her.
*SWEATING*
*GULPING*
*HEAVY BREATHING*
Throat it is. Is It? Yes, throat. Troat, thrrooat. Throat it is. Shove the knife breaking my trachea*puffing*. That is it. May Lord forgive me. *crying* I’m sorrryyy.
*MOANING*
Now I am holding the knife from both the hands and pointing the tip of the knife towards my throat.
*SHAKING*
*BLOWING AIR TWICE*
*CLOSING EYES*
Give me the strength. *blowing air* Please forgive me, God. *heavy breathing* I failed my life. *holding knife tightly* I failed my family. *gulping* I failed myself.
♪ But if we’d only open our eyes ♪
[*Children laughing on Qaisar in the classroom*]
♪ We’d see the blessings in disguise ♪
[“See beta. This is Hafeez uncle. Come on, say salaam.”]
[“Wake up Bono! Please meow to me. *voice breaking* Please wake up! Please don’t leave me! *crying* I promise I’ll feed you, my baby. Please don’t go, pleeeaaase.”]
♪ There’s gold in them hills ♪
[“My wedding is fixed. Please forget me Qaisar.”]
♪ There’s gold in them hills ♪
[(On laptop) “Please come soon beta”]
*MOANING*
I’mm sorrrrry ammmmmmmiiiiii maaaaaaaaaaaa.
*SHRIEKING*!!!
*PHONE RINGING*!!!
*RIGHT EAR MOVING IN TAUT*
*GULPING*
*PHONE RINGING*!!!
*HEAVY BREATHING*
*SWEATING*
*EYES WIDE OPEN*
An uncontrollable painful headache suffers me to vomit on my lower body. My shorts is dirty with the substance. I am unmoved on the toilet seat. All I listen to is my breathing. I cannot gulp anymore. I felt someone was hitting my head with a sledgehammer before throwing.
*COUGHING*
The phone rings again. It may be the landlord.
*CRYING*
This predicament has made the temperature of my body disordered. I am sweating but at the same time, I am feeling icy-cold. I am still sitting on the toilet seat without moving an inch of my body. I am urinating in my shorts. My feet and palms are cold. The heart is beating fast again due to this unnatural phenomenon. I am still not on my own.
*EYES STRONGLY BLINKING*
*PHONE STOPS RINGING*
I take a deep breath. I try to move. For some time, my body was stiff. Only my arms and face were moving. I feel some neuralgia when I distance my head from the wall. I stand up trying to balance myself. Some drops of my urine and vomit were absorbed on my shorts and some dropped down the floor which the shorts couldn’t absorb. The frightened cat runs away pussyfooting. The knife is still in my hand. I take the mobile which I had left near the soap dispenser. It was Nizam. Ohhh. Is he returning?
*VOICE BREAKING*
Has the tutor demanded his fees and send him back?
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I cann’t. I cannn’t.
*CRYING*
*SITTING ON THE TOILET SEAT*
No noo noooo no no.
*MOBILE ON MY KNEE*
*THINKING*
*CRYING*
What else can I do? The tutor is asking to pay three months of tuition fees. I have to pay back to my friends. The landlord is calling me to pay the rent. Nizam is calling me. I am lying to my parents for months.
*REPEATEDLY HITTING PALM ON FOREHEAD*
*REPEATEDLY SLAPPING FACE*
*SHAKING HEAD*
*HAND ON MY FACE*
*PAUSE*
*THINKING*
*SLOWLY BREATHING*
*BLOWING AIR*
I take the mobile from my knee. Opens the photo album and see Nizam’s picture one last time. I am smiling and looking at the bathroom walls. Push ran away because she sensed my death. *shaking head* It is over.
*TEXTING*
“Nizam! Brother! Never ever give up on your dreams. One day you will realize how much I-”
NEW MESSAGE!!!
Re: Job Offer
……………………………
*EYES WIDE OPEN*
*SLOWLY BREATHING*
*HANDS SHAKING*
*CLICKING MESSAGE*
“Mr. Qaisar! We have observed your CV and expect you to visit our office today at 1’o’clock sharp. Regards, William Proctor.”
*KNIFE DROPPING*
Seems like repeatedly forgetting to mute my phone is a good omen.
♪ So don’t lose faith Give the world a chance to say
A word or two, my friend There’s no telling how the day might end And we’ll never know until we see That there’s gold in them hills
There’s gold in them hills So don’t lose heart Give the day a chance to start
There’s gold in them hills There’s gold in them hills ♪
Sami Naik | Film Critic 
